


You Saw Me As Sane So For A Moment I Was

by spraypaintedgold



Category: Youtube RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, M/M, One Shot, Tronnor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:31:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4332216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spraypaintedgold/pseuds/spraypaintedgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was 1995, three years after Troye had committed an unspeakable crime, and Connor still loved him the way he first did in 1991. Maybe after all this time trying to forget him by running away, he could forgive him by coming back.</p><p>One-shot.</p><p>Warning: Mention of shootings, depression, self harm, violence, death, mental illness, murder, and swearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Saw Me As Sane So For A Moment I Was

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I'm not a Psychology major; this work is purely fictional and may contain inaccurate (and somewhat glamorized?) representation of psychopathy.
> 
> Loosely inspired by Tate and Violet from AHS: Murder House without the infuriating Rubber Man thing that was so predictable and so unsatisfactory but alas it had to be done.
> 
> This work is available under the same name on Wattpad.

_Present Day; July 3_ _rd_ _, 1995_   
  


Connor nabbed a quick breath from the sky around him and felt dirty, as if he was stealing something precious in exchange for something sinful. His fingers were still firmly wrapped around the door handle, able to smash the door shut behind him at any moment. He could drive away right now, he reassured himself. But could he?

He quivered under the dark gaze laid over him by the tall and brooding old building, loose bricks, tarnished plaques, and all. There was a long ledge across the top of the main doors displaying the title: "Monson Psychiatric Institute." Hilarious, wasn't it? That the boy's own house was turned into a sick home after the world figured out he wasn't all there.

Connor wanted to cry. He slammed the door behind him and ignored the suspicious rattling sounds that came from it.

His steps stuttered against the paved cobblestone driveway as he approached the dusty marble stair before the large panel doors.

Connor peered inside, glancing at the orderlies and families sprinkled about. _Fuck, why did they let people make visits here?_  Didn't they know the patients were sort of insane?

He just wished someone else would interfere. God knows he could never stop himself. He shut his eyes, feeling the strain below his temples.  
  


***   
  


" _Insane"; Junior Year; November 21_ _st_ _, 1991_  
  


_"I don't think you should go back to him. It's going to hurt, you know." Caspar laid back on his bare double bed, tossing a clear rubber ball into the air._

_"You ever hear of blood letting? Sometimes you need to cut yourself open to let out the poison inside." Connor looked down at his feet. He fit awkwardly in the door frame, like a puzzle piece shoved in the wrong place._

_"Jesus,now you want to fucking open the seams of your being? If you find a mental hospital, go ahead and check yourself in."_

_Dan nodded, looking up from his manga. "Troye's bloody insane, Connor."_

_Connor swore he saw depictions of flying severed heads sprawled across the page. Yeah, Dan,_ he  _is._

_Caspar sat up, rolling the ball against his palm. "I'm saying this from experience, Con. I used to be his friend. Sometimes I think you forget that."_

_"He's a good person." Connor testified. He said that, always. In hopes that someone would believe it._

_"Is he though? Because good people don't just have a sucky day and stab someone in the goddamn leg. They buy a lollipop and get over it. You know what he did to people? Ben befriended Troye in middle school and Troye fucking knifed him across the arm when he accused him of being dangerous. Leon in 8_ _th_ _grade got a blade shoved into his thigh when he ignored Troye for a week. And let's not forget that Troye threw Zach off the walk into the ocean. The_ ocean,  _Connor."_

_He shrugged, a timid air of nonchalance wafting about him. "I mean,they all survived."_

_"You like making excuses for Troye."_

_"Look,I get that they didn't deserve to have those things done to them. But Troye and his siblings didn't deserve to get drop kicked to the street and float around the abyss of foster care for years. Troye didn't deserve to have his family ripped from him. He was alone, he was scared. He'd never seen good before. He'd never received love before."_

_"He loves you. I know that. But that doesn't absolve him of his sins. In the name of love, he cornered Ryan in a back alley and smashed his face in after he found out Ryan was bullying you last semester. Troye got what he wanted, the jerks left you alone; but that's not what sane people do to fix problems, Connor." His teeth were grit, muscles tense like his tone._

_"This sounds selfish," and it probably was. But damn it, for once in his life was Connor not allowed to be fucking selfish? "but I'm the first one Troye ever loved enough to never hurt me. He told me that.He never told anyone else that. He said that he would protect me, no matter what. And sometimes bad things happen from that. But that's a side effect."_

_"It's not just selfish, Connor. It's fucked up. True love fixes a cut,maybe, not a mental condition. How could you think like that?"_

_"Maybe I have a little bit of psychopath inside of me."_

_Dan groaned, thinking, he was stuck in a deranged romance novel._   
  


***  
  


Connor leaned onto the lobby desk, knocking his knuckles lightly against the top to earn the woman's attention.

"Hello." The lady in a bun shot him a peppy smile. God, how did she stay happy in this whirlwind of misery? Maybe seeing all the families and friends visiting the mental hospital got her through. "How can I help you?"

"I'm just here to say who I'm visiting, I know where the room is. I'm going up to see Troye Mellet."

Her eyes were shattered, cracked in pieces of fear and shock. Mostly confusion. She shook, barely uttering coherent sentences. Weird.

Connor nodded hesitantly at her and decided to just get on with it and climb the infinite flights of stairs.

The grand house was beautiful, practically a mansion. It probably cost a fortune to be committed in this place. How the hell did Troye even end up living here pre-incident? The family knew he was mayhem when they agreed to be his foster parents, but they let him into their million dollar estate anyway. Man, Troye's violence was the only "street cred" he could garner living in a house like this.

Where the fuck had Troye's family gone if their house was now being used as a facility?

Connor arrived at the top of the stairs, letting his feet fall into the carpeted flooring. He pushed open the door to Troye's room. In hindsight, he should have knocked.

Troye was laying with his feet up on a pillow stashed against the headrest. He was looking up at the clandestine ceiling, face numb of emotion.

Connor's heart, soft and fragile, was beating so fast he thought it would burst out of his body. "Troye."

The boy's head snapped to turn to him, small dark brown curls falling over the boy's bright blue eyes. He looked like a child. How could someone so boyish do something so evil?  
  


***  
  


" _The Incident"; Senior Year; May 2_ _nd_ _, 1992_  
  


_Troye's platform shoes made a deep and hollow thud against the corridor floor. Kfft, kfft. He looked up. Science classroom._

_He had nothing against science. Troye took a quick look into the room. A teacher was standing above 15 students, all packed away neat and tidy in their desks. He needed to help these people. Troye twisted the cool metal doorknob and was met with a stern lecture about his obnoxious interruption._

_He laughed. Then he pulled out a shotgun from his satchel and sent a bullet straight into the man's abdomen. The bullet was buried into the right of his belly, into the bundle of his sweater._

_The teacher gaped at him, wide-eyed with terror. Stupid fuck._

_No one moved. All was still; peaceful. This is where he wanted everyone to be. And then Troye realized he was being selfish and foolish. He was holding them back. So, like tally marks, he crossed them off. A bullet in a pale forehead coated by beads of sweat. One into a glaring eye, righteous and pissed off. One out of a slicked back ponytail. When he left, all were dead except for two._

_The boy had dark black hair, and a nose that he scrunched up into his glasses. He looked like he was loved._

_And then Troye remembered. He knew him. Dan loved him. And Dan had been through terrible things- things that Troye understood. Troye strutted up to the young man and pointed the barrel to his second-to-last-victim's chin. "If I let you outta here alive, what are you going to do?"_

_Phil looked scared. But he knew Troye, and unbeknownst to the kid with the gun, he cared about Troye. He didn't flinch as he responded. "I'm going to find Dan, and make sure he's okay. And then I'm gonna make the world good."_

_A good world. Troye liked the sound of that. So he led the gun away,and without looking, pulled the trigger on the girl in the last seat."Go to Dan, get him out of here. I don't want to see you two in this building again today, hear that?"_

_"Yeah."_

_Troye killed 20 people that day. He took people's lives. His last five victims were a couple fucking in the supply closet, and a few kids who liked to get drunk and hurt people who were occasionally Connor. Troye shot around ten people in random limbs as they flailed about the hallway while he was trying to have a tranquil stroll. Their fucking fault._   
  


_***_   
  


"Do you hate me? Do you think I'm a monster?" He asked, somber and frail like a tree dying in winter. He was half of himself, half of the person Connor loved.

"I think you're despicable. But, I don't hate you. I think you're a demon, not the Devil. But tell me, explain to me why the fuck you went and killed people."

"They needed it. To help them escape this stupid Earth where people aren't loved and people are sinners for being people."  
"That's not true, Troye."

"I know that now!" He screamed it. Troye balled his fists and took four deep breaths. "I know. I shouldn't have done it. But I did. And I can't change that, Connor." He whispered to himself, "I can't."

The brunette boy sighed, pulling his cap over his chilled ears. "You can't just say sorry for something like that."

"What do you want me to do?" He seethed, face shaking with each syllable.

"I don't know."

"But I did spare people that day, Con! I saved people."

"You were the one who walked into Crimson with a gun."

"But I have emotions! I feel." His voice softened, "I love you."

"I know." Connor observed Troye then, looking over the thin body wrapped in a flannel and a faded T-shirt. He looked different now than the last time they saw each other at graduation. He looked softer, more teddy-bear like. Kinder. Troye looked the way Connor had always wanted him to.

Connor tried to remember graduation. He couldn't pull up a memory of Troye receiving a diploma. In fact, Connor only saw him in the audience, smiling. Between the shooting and then, they didn't speak once.

Connor moved away right after graduation and the two didn't keep in touch. He wondered why Troye hadn't contacted him. Now he knows. Why had it taken Connor three years to drive the half hour distance to come see him?

"I still don't understand. You were doing so well, Troye. We were pulling it together, and then you just fell apart all of a sudden. You were getting better. When you were feeling violent, you came to me. You didn't want to hurt people as much anymore. But then I left and you were back to square one."  
  


***  
  


" _After"; Senior Year; May 8_ _th_ _, 1992_  
  


 _The police man stared at the glint in his cup of coffee, the very same light reflecting on his badge. He was all too comfortable in his dentin their family room sofa, and he made Connor entirely_ uncomfortable.

_"We need to understand why he did it, Mr. Franta." He glanced up at the teenager's mom displaying a worried look and sighed, "I'm afraid that I'll have to question the boy alone, Ma'am. He's not in trouble, I assure you."_

_With a wary nod, she retreated into the kitchen._

_"People say that you and him were close. That you were his, um, boyfriend."_

_Connor tensed._

_"Relax kid, I'm not here to talk about that. Now, the shooting occurred the week you and your family were away, do you have any first thoughts? Did he maybe break down without you?"_

_"No. He hasn't spoken to me once since he..." Connor shuddered, leaning over to crank the fireplace up, as if the heat would stop the chills."did that. But knowing him, he was going to do it anyway and only wanted to make sure I was safe."_

_"Well, thank you then boy, but I'm afraid you may not be as helpful as we hoped."_

_"Aren't you going to tell me to stay away from him or something?"_

_"Well,uh," The officer hesitated as he began to make his way to the door. "I guess. But, he doesn't seem like an apathetic guy. He let a few kids off, after having conversations with them. Kids like Mellet- they don't usually do that. They kill without reason, and they most definitely do not try to spare the sunshine. The kids I talked to were all sweet. I can think of a Phillip, who said he was given express permission to rescue his boyfriend. There was a Tyler, an Ingrid, a Hannah, a Joey with a Daniel, a Zoe, and others. All kids that looked soft and like goody-two-shoes." He scratched his head,the thinning hair under his cap dimly illuminated by the squeaky porch light._

_Connor gave the officer a stern look, "Those kids are friends. They know him; they know how to respect him and he them."_

_"I heard reports that he looked all dark and grunge-y though. Kids like that don't like kids like them."_

_"As far as that goes, you're looking at his boyfriend. Tiny, soft, and cuddly. He likes his friends like that. He likes to be reminded that good exists. And dark? You've never seen him. He may do things that deserve hell, but Troye looks like a baby in his over-sized sweaters and lopsided smiles."_

_"I'm glad you two were together. You seemed to balance him, even for the time being."_

_"So," Connor stepped closer to the man. "I never did hear what happened to him."_

_The cop tipped his hat and waved goodbye to Mrs. and Mr. Franta through the kitchen curtain. "I best be off now."_

_Connor frowned._

_The cop hobbled down the front stairs, sticking it against the sidewalk and shuffling into his car. He gripped the handle and was about to yank the door behind him._

_"Wait, officer! There's something you should know." The silhouette thrust a hand into the air, back lit by the blinding glow of the house's small chandelier. "Troye Mellet doesn't hate people; he loves them when they're worthy. He hates the world and how it treats them."_   
  


***  
  


"I couldn't do it without you! You helped me, gave me a heart. You left me too soon! I sort of cracked."

"Love isn't being  _dependent_ on me, Troye!" And every hurricane came out of him. Every time he wanted to scream at Troye for being selfish and cruel and for pulling him into his world.

They sat in silence.

"I-I'm sorry-"

"No, it's fine. If anything, it should be me apologizing. I didn't talk to you after it, but I was scared, Connor."

He could never press Troye too hard, hold him accountable for all the terrible things he'd done. That was Connor's curse. What scared Connor the most was the thought that, maybe, he loved the evil as much as the good.

He could hear whimpering as the thin boy shoved his face into the comforter.

"Are you crying?" Connor crawled onto the creaking iron bed frame and wrapped his body around Troye, perching his chin on the boy's shoulder. He was right, Troye was different now.  
  


***  
  


" _Paranoid"; Junior Year; March 3_ _rd_ _, 1991_  
  


_Troye was leaking hot droplets of salty tears, face clenched and hair wrecked. He smacked the wall and grasped a glass vase loosely in his hand. He shrieked, then with one swift over-hand motion, pulled the vase over his head and flung it to the ground. The vase shattered on instant contact with the wood flooring, splitting into millions of pieces and specks of dust that Troye would never be able to put back together. He didn't understand things like that._

_"Why would Jackson do that? Why, Connor?"_

_"He didn't do_ anything." _When they fought, Connor would speak stern and collected; never yell. If he did, then Troye would get competitive and turn it into a shouting match. And lord knows, that boy could scream._

_"He would touch you, and love you. He would steal you from me!"_

_"No. He wouldn't. And that doesn't matter. I wouldn't go with him, you know that. I wouldn't leave you." Not like this._

_"No! He would! He's an asshole and you're mine! Mine, Connor!"_

_"Shh, I know. I know."_

_"I hate him!" He threw his weight into a heavy kick, letting his shelf free of stacks of books. "I'm going to fucking kill him!"_

_Connor couldn't see Troye like this. It hurt, it always did. Because it was true that slowly, Troye was improving. But it was too slow. It felt like it was three steps forward, two steps back. Connor used to think that Troye would get fixed._

_He still loves him._

_Connor threaded his fingers with Troye's and pulled the boy into his lap as he sat against the wall. He had to dig his nails into the boy's flesh just slightly to keep him down on the floor. Connor still winced when Troye released a pained screech._

_Troye was wriggling and shouting, wailing that Jackson was going to take Connor away. "I love you, Con! You can't go away. Don't go! You're all I have."_

_Connor sighed, pressing his lips to the ridge of Troye's shoulder and shushing him. "I'm not going. I'm not." Connor held Troye tightly, hands still interlocked as the boy sat between his legs._

_Troye had stopped making loud accusations. That was good. He had taken to sobbing while being restricted by Connor's hold. He laid back against Connor's chest, bawling into his palms as his boyfriend's arms were wrapped around him._

_Connor ran his warm hands along Troye's body, in all the places he was allowed to touch. Occasionally he would try to touch his cheek, but Troye shifted away, so he would immediately retract his hands. Once, Troye asked for a kiss, so he let their lips touch in a loving embrace. Then Troye said he didn't want him to touch his face anymore, so Connor complied._

_Troye fell asleep in Connor's arms at 12:43 AM. His foster parents had returned home, terrified at the scene of destruction, but nevertheless sending Connor an expression of gratitude and permission to stay the night._

_Connor lifted Troye into bed and peeled off his jacket. He frowned. Among the scars of Troye's cuts, there were two gash marks by his elbow that were darker red. From a couple hours before Connor got there, maybe. He massaged his own temples and pulled the sheet over Troye's pale body, gazing over him with a relentless sensation of sadness. He took the bedding he accepted from Troye's foster parents and laid down on it by the wall, never taking his eyes off of Troye._   
  


***  
  


"Troye, you don't still...?"

"Are you kidding?" He pulled up his left sleeve, showing Connor the stray white lines scattered across his forearm. "They won't let me do shit like that here. And besides, I sorta like how they look white. It compliments my skin better than the burgundy, don't you think?" He was grinning, like he was excited.

It made Connor's heart ache to see him like that; he loved it. He missed it. "I love you so much."

Troye's cheeks puffed out in a smile as his tear-stained eyes crinkled. "I love you too. Always, Connor."

And Connor always came back to him, because Troye never lied to him, or hurt him. And he loved him. Connor had his own problems with love as well.

Troye pressed his forehead against Connor's, then leaned into a slow kiss.

Connor retaliated, molding their mouths together and letting the warmth of Troye melt against him. Then he pulled away with a smile dancing on his lips.

This Troye was good. So much better than before, yet still the same. Connor thought  _maybe Troye had learned_. He squeezed Troye, laughing joyously. Could he say it out loud? "I forgive you. What you did was terrible. But I trust that you won't do it again, and I can't hold a grudge. So I forgive you."

"Thank you." His smile was sad and his tears were happy.

"You're welcome. Though the forgiveness is not mine to give."

Troye winced. "I know." He pressed his ear to Connor's chest, feeling the pulsing beat of the boy's heart in his head. He sighed. "But Connor, before I feel guilty, there's something I need to tell you."

Connor stood, nodding as he pressed a soft kiss to Troye's forehead. "I already know, Troye."

***  
  


" _Panic"; Senior Year; May 3_ _rd_ _, 1992_  
  


_Troye was wearing a fur-lined denim jacket, trailing the streets of LA alone at 7 PM with his hands shoved into his pockets. Not too far from home, but not close enough. He hadn't been home since the shooting. Not even anywhere that felt a little like home. He wished Connor was in town, that he could go to someone who cared about him. He could go to Connor's friends. They were so nice to him. But he didn't want to be a burden, and it would be awkward. He only really got along with Zoe and Hannah, anyway. It didn't matter. Like their parents would be cool with the Crimson High Massacre swinging by their house._

_He looked up at the most depressing neon McDonald's sign he had ever seen and shrugged to himself before dragging his feet in._

_He ordered a Big Mac combo and waited patiently at his booth. He didn't really like McDonald's, but he was hungry._

_A tall officer with slicked back raven-colored hair pushed open the door, letting the We're Open sign swing back and forth on the panel._

_Troye gasped, pulling his sleeves down and pulling his sweater over his neck as he laid on the table, head down under his hands._

_The deep crawling voice boomed above him. Shit._

_"What are these scars, son? You shouldn't hurt yourself that way." The officer ran a finger over the sensitive flesh and Troye snapped._

_He wasn't comfortable being touched there. Not by anyone unless they asked. Connor said that it's okay to tell people to ask. Troye sat up by reflex and glared at the cop. "Did I say you could touch me? No. So, please." He was pushing it out with deep exhales. "Don't. Touch me."_

_"Holy. Holy shit." The officer whispered into the radio strapped onto his chest. "Central, I've got the lead suspect for the Crimson killing right here at McDonald's on 5_ _th_ _.Send immediate back-up."_

_Troye groaned._

_Without any emotion, the cop pointed the barrel at Troye's chest, and Troye could see into it, this black hole that was the last thing a lot of people would see. Sometimes, he thought that police officers could be sociopaths._

_He wasn't scared. The world was more hellish than death itself. Bring it on, Officer Smith._

_Then, Troye remembered. He liked living now. He needed to live. To be with him; to protect him._

_In an action of panic, Troye jerked and dived under the table to protect himself. He wasn't thinking. He should've been thinking._

_A counter-action of panic. One shot in place of the right eyebrow. Fatal._

_Troye Sivan Mellet born June 5_ _th_ _, 1974 died by gunshot on May 3_ _rd_ _, 1992 at 7:12 PM. Son, Lover, Fallen Angel. A funeral attended by ten._

_Joey clasped his hand with Daniel's, whispering that despite the people he offed, Troye didn't deserve it._

_Dan bit the inside of his cheek, laying his head on Phil's shoulder. He cried, for his crazy, messed up, childish friend._

_And Tyler, and Zoe, and Alfie, and Hannah bawled as they sat beside his grave. The kids were wearing mismatched black button ups and jeans, dark purple party dresses and gray stockings, their wardrobes unprepared to be at the burial of a friend. No seventeen year old should have to be ready for that, really. They were sad for Troye. Then they were sad for Connor. They didn't have the heart to tell him. So for a year, Connor didn't know. It wasn't until Dan walked into his new house and began to cry that he had an ounce of understanding. And their fears came true; Connor broke down. He dented the walls and screamed out his throat and Dan could only sob with him. Then came Joey and Daniel, and Hannah, and Zoe with condolences. Connor was never mad at Troye for committing crimes. But this one time, he found himself furious that he got caught._

_After the funeral, Troye's foster parents were reminded of him every damned day. As they walked up the stairs, they'd remember Troye's childish giggle while he played with the beloved family dog. They would hear him curse at them and threaten them when they tried to sleep at night. Open windows made them remember how often Troye was gone. When they walked into the marble-tiled bathroom, they heard his soft angelic voice ringing through the shower curtains. They even swore that they saw him sitting around the house out of the corners of their eyes. They had to escape. So they upped and moved to Beverly Hills, in search of a million dollar property that wasn't tainted by fond or traumatizing memories. Ironically, their old residence would inspire a wealthy psychiatrist who had heard of their son and decided to use their building to safely house children like him._   
  


***  
  


"I'll always love you, Connor. I wanted to protect you until the end of this goddamned world." He was crying again.

"You will. But now, you need to do me one favor. One favor that will be the hardest for you, Tro."

"Anything, Connor." He wiped his tears away and pretended to look strong; his talent. "I will always do anything for you."

Connor stood from the bed and took a deep breath before looking down at him. "Then let go."

 

Troye was taken aback. Then he smiled, nodded, and vanished into thin air.


End file.
